“I hate to say it, but… yes,” I say, knowing it’s our last chance.
The prospect of seeing Mikkel Thorsen again is deeply heinous and tremendously alluring, as my drakaina trumpets inside me.
I tell her to shut the fuck up, as I get ready for anything, seeing the Thorsen twins again.
16
MEMORIES
We’re out of the Old Palace by nightfall, at the time Mikkel and Lærke’s club usually opens. Dressed to the nines, since we’re going inside The Vault again, we’re all wearing chic Euro club wear now.
Even Bjorn has consented to a shiny black, tight-fitted sweater to show off his body, rather than his usual tactical stuff. I’m wearing a strappy dark purple dress, and Ström has on a ripped neon green shirt beneath a black silk jacket, with the sleeves rolled up 80s style.
We’ve got pictures on our phones of our documents, we’re lookin’ tight, and we’re ready for anything as we stroll through the early nighttime traffic near the lowest cliffs of the city.
Though strangely, the slender alley leading to The Vault is silent as we arrive.
“Odd.” Ström frowns as he peruses the doors, shut up tight without a single bouncer in sight. Though a few people have arrived for the evening, same as us, everyone is milling about in confusion now, no queue forming.
As it seems, The Vault is closed for the night.
“They don’t have any signs posted.” Bjorn scowls as he bangs on theenormous steel doors, testing them. He turns back to Ström. “Are you sure they’re supposed to be open?”
“It’s Thursday. They’re open Wednesday through Saturday.” Ström scowls now as he glances around at the milling people. Many are wandering off, assuming the place is closed even as others arrive, adding more confusion to the mix. “If they have a private party or something going on inside, they forgot to notify their clientele via the usual channels. Not something Mik and Lærke generally miss.”
“Maybe they cleared out.” I set my hands on my hips as I process this unexpected development. “If they got a whiff of the Black Dragon Knights cracking down on Bone Mages, thanks to everything recently… they may have gone elsewhere. Someplace safer and less obvious, out of Sweden.”
Even as I speak, a group comes towards us in the throng now. Not dressed in the usual club wear, they haveenforcerswritten all over them as they shoulder through the milling dragons.
Taller than the rest of the dragons in the alley, I think for a moment they’re the club’s bouncers finally arriving for the night. But then something hits my radar wrong; as one’s piercing saffron eyes pin me, I know they’re here for us.
I don’t even have a moment to shift. They’re on us that fast.
The fighting is quick and dirty as we engage these unknown assailants who so casually strolled into our midst. As I duck and roll, hammering one with a blow to the side of the knee, I spread my raging red-gold dragon-aura wide, feeling my way through the fight.
These guys are good, but Ström, Bjorn, and I are better with our dragon power, maneuvers, and coordination. As the club’s usual clientele rush away fast, it’s just us and these six assholes roaring, blocking, and diving in human form in the alley.
Fighting for what reason, I have no clue.
Magical drives are everywhere; I’ve got a wickedly spiked Bloodshield up around me now, and so do my mates, as we cast aside the worst ofthem. I think for a moment these guys are our enemy Bone Mages. Those dragons were incredibly strong, though, mostly beyond my trio’s abilities in a fight.
These fighters are more like your average muscle, though good; as I spread my senses wide, I don’t feel any Bone Magic in them. At last, Bjorn, Ström, and I have five of them knocked out, the sixth trapped to the ground by my Bloodshield as Ström pins him down with a Bloodnet made from his iron-clad metaphysical strength. Bjorn gets a boot on his throat.
We’re banged up with bloody lips and bruises, but it’s nothing we can’t handle as we hold the last fighter down. The drake on the ground is coughing, starting to choke out, and I signal to Bjorn to let off a bit. He does, and our attacker recovers enough to stare up at us as we pin him.
Not enough to get up, however, or to reengage the fight.
“Who in seven fucks are you?!” Ström growls now as he gets a second Bloodnet around the guy, cinching him up tight like a burrito, so I can back off.
“The Council sends their regards,” the drake says as he coughs, his nose broken and blood pouring down his face and into the back of his throat.
“I fucking knew it!” Bjorn glares down at the man beneath his boot. “How long have you been tracking us?”
The man clams up then. He sets his bloody lips together and I know we’re getting nothing else out of him unless we torture him, which is not our style. The guard dogs of the Black Dragon Knight’s Council are notorious for not giving up information. They’ll die to the last dragon, and say nothing when they’re captured.
Just like this guy here, defiant and staring up at us.
“Here, let me have a go.” Ström cracks a few knuckles, popping a disjointed index finger back into place. “He’ll break under my Bone Magic. I guarantee it.”
